Red Winter Hymnal
by cairistiona7
Summary: Sometimes missions don't go as planned, but the law of unintended consequences doesn't mean all outcomes are bad. Written for msnightraven for the tumblr BuckyNat Secret Santa for their prompt, "Natasha gets injured badly" because I am a sucker for the whole "injuries lead to declarations of love" trope.


_Thanks as always to my Betas Three: Nath, Imbecamiel and Nefhiriel_

 _To set the scene: MCU-based story takes place some time in the future after Civil War. The team is back together, Bucky is included in the Avengers and learning their dynamics, but he and Nat have yet to reveal that each remembers their shared past (in my universe, Brubaker's mindwipe of all of Nat's memories of Bucky never happened because yuck and no). Speculating that MCU Bucky and Nat's Red Room romance takes place circa 2005-2010 to ensure Nat was not under age, so not comics compliant and probably won't be MCU compliant._

 _Title and occasional lyrical Easter eggs taken from Pentatonix' cover of Fleet Foxes' White Winter Hymnal, which for some reason always makes me think of Bucky and Nat during their Red Room days. It's my headcanon that Bucky has it in his extensive Christmas song collection and listens to it as a reminder of how far he's come from those days of red-stained Siberian snow._

 _On to the story._

-o0o-

The mission went pear-shaped before he and Nat ever reached the objective.

On paper, it looked simple enough: covert insert to recon what reliable intel told them was an abandoned HYDRA base disguised as an old coal mine deep in the mountains of West Virginia. Weather window of roughly seven hours before a blizzard moved in. Remote and rugged mountainous terrain, so no landing zone for the quinjet closer than four miles, three and a half of them nearly straight up and down several densely wooded ridges. Neither weather nor terrain were optimal, but not deterrents. Local population consisted of a tiny town of a hundred people or less in a valley three clicks the other side of the suspected base from the LZ. Bucky and Black Widow in, quick check to make sure no baddies still lurked inside plotting world domination, destroy anything that needed it, then out, no one the wiser. Shoulda been relatively easy.

The trek in was uneventful; game trails made for easy enough travel. But when they came within sight of the objective, there'd been children nearby, a couple kids, probably from the little town, probably on Christmas break, sledding on yesterday's snowfall down the hill near the mine entrance.

A split-second distraction. That was all it took.

Bucky took his eyes off the objective.

Nat took her eyes off the objective.

Just for a moment, because Nat's ledger ran red with a hospital full of innocent victims and his own probably had its share, if he dared to let himself remember (he remembered one time when he refused to kill a kid and he hoped he never had on other missions, but who the hell's to say tonight his dreams wouldn't pull the curtain back on a memory of him slaughtering a whole school full).

He swallowed hard. Yeah, keep kids out of harm's way when you can.

A flash of red scarves and giggles and the kids were past them and gone.

Bucky's eyes followed them, just to be sure.

Nat's eyes followed them, just to be sure.

Neither of them spotted the HYDRA drone in time.

Bucky did at least glimpse its movement a split second before it unleashed hell on them. He threw himself at Natasha, covering her body with the bulk of his and shielding her head with his metal arm, his own head be damned _it could blow off I don't care but not hers please God not hers,_ and the world exploded in fire and ice and a concussive blast that drove the air out of his lungs and most of the thought from his brain...

...

...

...

...

Bucky wasn't sure how long he had laid atop her, stunned into immobility, his ears filled with a high, keening ring and his head full of swirling mush, when he felt her move. He struggled off her and helped her gently roll over onto her back. There was a goose egg on her forehead and she didn't open her eyes, but oh thank God she was alive. But the blood... so much blood, painting the snow scarlet...

Bad memories hissed like static in his head, but he resolutely focused on present horrors. He pulled off his coat as he glanced over his shoulder to see if the drone was still hovering, ready to strike again. Nothing in the air, and then he spotted its charred remains scattered on the ground. Looked like it had exploded when it fired. Hooray for small favors, but they needed to get the hell under cover. That drone couldn't have been triggered by motion or it would have gone after those kids, so whoever sent it after him and Nat might very well send another once they saw the first one didn't do the job.

He stuffed his coat against the wound on her left side. _How did anything hit her when I was covering her?_ But then pain bit into his own left side and he realized some of the blood on the snow was his. "Damn it, Stark," he muttered. "You told me this uniform was bullet proof."

He refused to think about the irony of a shot going through him to hit her. They could share an uncomfortable laugh about that over a drink later. For now he just needed to stop the bleeding. He loosened her belt and tightened it around the jacket to keep it in place. He glanced at his own side, where a dark stain was slowly spreading on his tattered uniform, but he didn't bother doing anything about it. He could go a long time on very little blood when he had to. He might collapse and die by the time he got Nat to safety, but whatever. She'd be safe and that was all that mattered.

He took a moment to touch the comm in his ear, but it was fried. "Damn it," he muttered. He looked for the kids. Nowhere. Hopefully they scattered for home when they heard the blast. Still no sign of any threats emerging through the smoke of the destroyed drone, not that he was reassured.

The clouds were lowering. Dull battleship gray, heavy with snow.

Okay then.

Four miles to the quinjet. Up and down steep ridges.

Well, he _was_ a super soldier.

He picked her up, gritted his teeth, and _ran_.

Somewhere between the tenth and fiftieth step it started to snow.

Somewhere between the sixtieth and hundredth step he stumbled on the steep downward path. Barely stopped himself from falling.

She groaned softly. "Barnes..."

"Shh, Nat. Things went a little sideways, but I got you."

"Side hurts."

"I know," he bit off 'baby' just in time. "I know."

He gently adjusted his hold on her. Regained his footing. Blinked away dark spots swirling along with the snowflakes.

 _Hang on, Natasha._

 _Hang on._

-o0o-

Sometime shortly after his stumble, the storm's fury struck. _Damn forecasters, never can get it right…_

Snow.

Ice.

Wind.

White.

Blinding white everywhere.

He staggered on, trusting instinct to keep him on the path when wind gusts tried to blow him off the side of the mountain.

Worked hard to keep memories of cryo at bay.

So cold.

No coat.

Needed a coat.

Needed warmth. Needed color. Needed Steve's reassuring voice in his comm.

But there was no warmth, no color, no sound but the howling wind and the ringing in his ears... the ringing... ringing... like Christmas bells... like wedding bells... white wedding bells... a white wedding dress...

Natasha would be beautiful in white... something flowing and ethereal... one of those dresses that left her shoulders bare... her red hair draped softly along her neck...

Red hair... red flowers... red spider in a Red Room... red blood spilling onto the white...

Onto the white snow... onto the white dress... no no no no...

 _Hang on, Nat. Don't leave me… don't… leave…me._

One foot in front of the other. Ignore the pain. Ignore the cold. Run. Run away from all the red...

Run away...

Run...

-o0o-

"Barnes! Hey, Barnes!"

Hands on his shoulder. Someone pulling at Nat. "N-n-n-..." He couldn't get his frozen lips to shape the words. To tell them _no get the hell away she's hurt I have to get her to safety have to get help…_

"Easy, Barnes. It's me. It's Hawkeye. C'mon man, you're half frozen. I got Nat. I got her."

Then his arms were empty.

Empty...

He let out a sound. Sobbing noise. His father's voice echoed. " _Men don't cry, son, Bucky up..."_

 _"Who the hell cares, Pop, she's hurt..."_

"Easy, Buck." Another voice. Not his father's. Deeper. Familiar as his own.

"S-s-s-t-eee-... N-n-n-at..."

"I know, Buck. Clint's got her. We came soon as you went off comm. Our quinjet's right here. Can you make it?"

He took a step. His knees crumpled but strong hands caught him. His head bumped against a blue uniform, white star. "S-s-s..." and that was all he could say but he needed to tell him about Nat. He concentrated with every frozen cell in his head. "S-she's b-bleedin', S-s-teve, you g-gotta h-help her... 'n I 'gotta t-t-ell her... g-g-gotta tell..."

"Shh, Buck. We'll check her out, stop worrying."

 _No no no I gotta tell her… I haven't had a chance to tell her how I feel… please God, let her live I need to tell her…_

An arm swept behind his legs and then he was floating and the air was white and the star was white but there was also red, so much red staining the snow and a song dribbled through his mind about snow and red scarves and stains like strawberries in the summertime...

-o0o-

Hands pulled at his shirt. Sharp pain bit his side, but he didn't care. He stared across the quinjet to where Sam was working on Nat. He heard Sam's voice talking to her, low and gentle, but he couldn't hear if she said anything back.

 _Live, Nat. You gotta live. You can't die… I've never told you…_

The quinjet's heat was blasting straight on him, but he still shuddered and shook as he tried not to think about a world without Natasha. He dragged his eyes to Steve, who was kneeling beside him, his hands red and slick and full of bandages. "S-steve? Is sh-she..."

"I don't know, Buck."

"I c-can't… if she d-d-dies… I've n-never told her how I…" He stopped. He hadn't told _anyone_ how he felt about her, once he remembered those stolen moments in the Red Room. He didn't know if she remembered him. He was afraid she didn't. Afraid they'd wiped her mind like they had his... so he never said anything, but now... oh god he had to tell her, had to—

Steve's soft voice broke into his wayward thoughts, loud enough for only him to hear. "I know, buddy. I know."

Bucky shook his head and tried to stand. "G-gotta t-t-tell her."

Steve dropped the bandages, gripped Bucky's shoulders and gave him a little shake. "Hey, calm down. Bucky. C'mon, look at me." He waited until Bucky looked him in the eye, then he said, very firmly, "She lost a lot of blood and she's half frozen, just like you, but she's strong. You got her to help on time. You'll get your chance to tell her how you feel."

"W-wait, y-you know?"

Steve gave him a wry grin. "I think everyone knows, except maybe her. It's okay."

Everyone… oh god, was he that obvious? Bucky licked his lips. Maybe Steve was wrong. Maybe not everyone knew. But it was okay if Steve knew. Steve _should_ know. Steve knew what Bucky was about to think before Bucky knew what he was about to think, most days. He took several deep breaths. Nodded. Looked again toward Nat. "This… w-was m-my fault. G-got distracted. There w-were kids…"

Steve had resumed working on bandaging him up, but he stopped what he was doing, holding the pad of gauze against his wound as he stared at his face. "Kids? The intel didn't—"

"Just a f-freak thing." God, would he ever warm up and stop shivering? More memory static tried to fill his brain. Cryo...

… _shivering, boneless, heavy limbed, dragged across a stained concrete floor to a chair..._

Steve's voice cut through the noise."Buck? You with me, pal?"

Bucky dug the fingers into the armrest. The left one creaked and groaned under the metal fingers. Stared at Steve. _No cryo. Just a blizzard. Just snow. Kids and snow and a mission that went sideways._ He relaxed his grip. "They were p-playing in the woods. Shouldna b-been there."

Steve shook his head. "Can't plan for every variable." He continued wrapping a long strip of white tape over the pad of gauze and around Bucky's torso several times. He tore off the excess.

"Ch-Christmas b-break, n-no school. I shoulda realized k-kids might b-be around."

"Damn it. Yeah, Buck, that's on me. I'm sorry."

"D-drone c-came outta nowhere. Had to t-tackle Natasha, t-try to c-cover her."

"You did all you could, Bucky."

He shook his head, but he didn't argue. He was too exhausted.

Steve untied Bucky's boots, yanked them off and tossed them aside. Then he unbuckled Bucky's belt. "Come on, gotta get you out of these wet pants." Bucky clumsily tried to unsnap the button. Steve slapped his hands away and did it himself. He tugged Bucky's pants down and off each leg and tossed them aside. He pulled off the damp socks and slipped on warm, dry ones. Or at least Bucky figured they were warm. He still couldn't feel his feet. He looked down at the bandage around his midsection. Thought about poking it, but that would involve using muscles that he was pretty sure had permanently locked up. "H-how bad?"

Steve's smile was grim. "You'll live." He pulled a Ready Heat blanket out of the drawer and ripped open the packaging. He shook it out and draped it over Bucky. "But you have a very nasty gash. Something big and jagged, probably shrapnel, tore up your oblique. I got the bleeding stopped, but it'll need stitches. You're lucky it didn't go any deeper. If it had, we'd still be back there looking for the spleen you left lying in the snow."

Bucky clutched the blanket around his neck. The slowly-warming blanket felt like heaven. His muscles finally started to unclench. "And Nat?"

Steve tucked the rest of the blanket around his lap and legs. "Looks like whatever tore through your side tore through her, too. She also has a nasty bump on her forehead."

"Probably got that when I knocked her down. Damn it. Shouldna been so rough."

"Hey, from what you told me, you saved her life. A concussion is a small price."

Bucky winced. Any injury to Nat was too high a price. "What about our quinjet?"

"Leaving it for now. Storm should keep anyone from finding it until we can come back for it. Now sit back," Steve ordered. When Bucky did, Steve punched the button on the arm of the chair. The chair back reclined and the leg rest lifted. Sometimes sitting in a chair as it moved like that triggered a lot of really shitty memories, but he was too worried about Nat to give it more than a passing thought.

 _Hang in there, Nat… please hang in there._

-o0o-

The jet landed at the Avengers compound. Paramedics with stretchers rushed out. Bucky was jostled onto one stretcher and Nat onto the other and after that it was a blur of medical types buzzing around and shining lights in his eyes and people looking through handheld scopes at his ears and assuring him repeatedly that Nat was holding strong. Then at some point he blinked and when he opened his eyes, he was in a quiet room. Two monitors beeped softly, not in sync but both with a steady rhythm. He looked at the screen on the stand by his bed and saw blips on a line that coincided with the beat in his chest. Then he looked past it to the next bed and saw messy red hair and a quietly sleeping profile, and beyond her, a monitor with the same reassuring blips.

"Nat," he whispered.

No response. His heart sank. The beeps on his machine sped up a little.

"Nat!" A little louder.

Nothing.

He wanted to touch her. Had to touch her. Had to feel warm skin and hold his hand up to feel her breath. Had to make sure the machines weren't lying. He eased himself upright. His side ached in a distant, dull way, but he could move easily enough (if easily meant with the stiffness of a non-super-serumed centenarian). He started to stand but had to stop when the IV line in his hand tangled with the bed rail. He extricated it, but he didn't think it was long enough to let him reach Nat's bedside and he didn't feel up to wrestling the pole over there with him.

He squinted up at the two bags hanging above the pump. The bigger one was saline, half full. The smaller one was labelled, "Morphine - Rogers/Barnes Formulation." It was empty. He figured he would survive without more saline (his full bladder assured him of that), so he rolled the line clamp closed. An alarm started beeping like an angry microwave. He squinted at the buttons on the pump and punched the one that shut the clamor off. Then carefully eased the needle out of the back of his hand, pressing the sheet against the wound for a minute until it stopped bleeding. Saline left in the line below the clamp made a damp puddle on the blankets, but he didn't care. He slowly stood, keeping his hand over the bandages on his left side, and shuffled over to her bed. He eased one hip onto the mattress and took her hand. It was warm. He saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. The machines weren't lying.

"Nat? Can you hear me?" She didn't respond. He kissed the back of her hand, then carefully set it down by her side and reached out to brush a knuckle along her cheek. He winced at the purple bruising over her left eye. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. He wanted to brush her hair back, but it was already out of her face. So much for clichéd romantic gestures. He cupped her cheek in his hand instead, rubbed the soft skin just below her eye with his thumb. "Honey, please wake up."

She continued sleeping. He pulled his hand back to his own lap.

Time passed. He watched her sleep. He wanted to pull back the covers, make sure the doctors bandaged her up properly, but with his luck she'd wake up, think he was molesting her and rip out all her stitches slugging him. Even if she didn't slap him into next week, she'd still probably think he was some kind of creep, sitting so close and watching her while she slept. His own wound was really starting to gnaw on him anyway, so he stiffly stood to move over to his own bed.

Maybe it was his grunt or the jostling of her bed, but she let out a quiet sound of pain. Her eyebrows furrowed.

He stopped and leaned toward her at what he hoped was a respectful distance. It hurt his side, but he didn't care. "Natasha?"

One eye opened partway, then shut. She squeezed both eyes tight, then finally opened both and looked up blearily. "Barnes?"

"Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling?"

She groaned and covered her eyes. "Like I got buried under an avalanche of super soldier."

He didn't know what to say to that.

She dropped her hand and stared at him. "Are you okay?"

He nodded.

"Liar. You're in a hospital gown."

He plucked at it ruefully. "Just some lacerations, bruises. I'll heal."

She lifted the sheet. "Huh. Wonder what got me. Besides you."

"Bump on the head, wound in your side. You caught some shrapnel."

"How? Weren't you on top of me?"

He pointed to his side. "Went through me first."

She stared at him. "Oh, you've got to be kidding."

"Karmic payback, I guess."

"I'd laugh at you, but it would hurt too much. You sure you're okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine, now."

She smirked. "Aw, Barnes. You were worried about me."

"Well, yeah."

The smirk faded. "Thank you."

He shrugged.

She patted the bed beside her. "Sit down before you fall down."

He sat as he had before. He wondered if it was possible for her to actually hear the butterflies flapping around inside his stomach.

She gazed at him so long he started to fidget. "What?"

"Just… remembering."

He licked his lip nervously. "Remembering what?"

"2005. Russia."

He was certain his heart skipped several beats.

"I was 21," she said, a far-away look in her eye. "You didn't seem much older than me. Maybe three years, or four."

Bucky's mouth was dry, but he didn't look away. He couldn't even if he tried.

"Do you remember?" she asked.

Did he remember? Neither the Russians nor HYDRA had ever made a machine strong enough to wipe her from his mind, and certainly not his heart. Not permanently. The memories always returned. The stolen kisses, the secret nights spent tangled in each other's arms as they desperately searched for their lost humanity... yeah, the memories were always there. He took a shaking breath. "Yes."

She smiled, but it faded quickly into sadness. "They punished you. Because of us. Made me watch as they wiped you and froze you."

He tried for a light tone. "Best reason for punishment ever."

She took his hand. Twined her small fingers around his. "Then, later, they told me something went wrong with the cryo and you had died. I… kept going on missions, but I was so angry inside. Angry at what they'd done to you. Angry at the KGB. Angry that there was no way out. But then Barton found me, offered me hope again. So I defected. Never told anyone about us. If I'd known you were still alive, still trapped—"

"Shh. Don't do that to yourself. You were right to escape when you had the chance."

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Even after you had supposedly died, I kept hearing rumors about a super assassin, a ghost. The Winter Soldier. It became very clear that they'd lied to me, so all I could do was hope somehow you might break your programming. And then you shot me in Odessa—"

He winced. He should have apologized for that when they first met after Berlin. "I'm sorry about that. I really am. I shoulda said something sooner."

"You idiot," she said, but her tone was soft. "You literally had no choice."

He didn't say anything. Just looked down at her hand in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Tried not to think about the lost years. Tried not to think about what might have been, had he been able to defect with her…

She took a deep but careful breath. "Never seemed right, asking you about any of it, including Odessa. I survived it, so I guess never saw the point in opening an old wound. No pun intended."

He tightened his grip on her hand. Felt tears well in his eyes. Felt the small splash of one dropping on his hand.

She slowly wiped it off, her fingertips leaving a trail of heat against his skin. He lowered his head, letting his hair hide the way he had to bite his lip at her touch. Such light caresses, but they may as well have been electric shocks, the way they set his nerves tingling.

She went on, oblivious to the turmoil she was stirring in him with each slow move of her hand. "But mostly I was afraid if you didn't remember shooting me, you wouldn't remember… the rest." She turned her hand so their palms pressed together, fingers interlocking. "So I never pulled on that thread."

"I remember," he said, his voice thick.

She took his other hand, the metal one, the one that kept him not quite human. It was a different arm than the one she so fearlessly touched and let touch, so long ago. She gripped it as hard as she gripped his right hand. "I don't want to ever let you go again. I _won't_ let you go."

He took a deep, fast breath. He locked his eyes on her. "Natasha…" When she smiled at him, he pulled his hand from hers to place it along her cheek. She leaned into it, so he lowered himself to gently kiss her. There was an aching familiarity to the shape of her lips, to their softness and the way they fit so well against his own, to the taste of her breath and the feel of it on his skin. To the easy way his fingers buried themselves in her hair. The hunger was still there, as keen as ever, even with his injury. But he pulled back, because yeah, injuries and passion don't exactly mix. "I remember loving you. They couldn't steal that from me, not completely. Short term, yeah, but it always came back, the memory of what we had. I _never_ stopped loving you."

She touched his cheek. "I never stopped loving you either, James Buchanan Barnes."

He kissed her again, more deeply, remembering every stolen moment they'd shared before they were ripped away from each other. He buried his face in the side of her neck. "'Tasha," he breathed.

She kissed his earlobe.

He laughed against her skin and rolled his head so she couldn't reach it again. Her kisses there had always tickled and still did. "'Tasha, I—"

"Well it's about damn time."

Bucky jerked upright—not the best move for his battered side—and glared at Clint as he strutted into the hospital room.

"What, you think none of us noticed the moon eyes you two kept giving each other when you thought no one was looking, including, hello, _each other_? Worst spies ever. I mean, dude, there's a whole pool going on when you'd finally kiss each other, and neither one of you had a clue."

"A pool?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, you know, everybody chips in and—"

"I know how a pool works," Bucky growled.

Clint's grin didn't carry so much as a hint of apology. "Falcon's money was on next week. Tony's was on 'never', just because he's a bastard. I had you two kissing about two years ago. Obviously I lost, so you two owe me a hundred bucks."

"Clint," Natasha said, "shut up."

He ignored her. "And guess who called it—Rogers. Figures. Guess he'd know more than any of us that you move slow, Barnes. You know, him being an old man from the Victorian Age just like you." He threw himself down in a chair in the corner and grinned at them. "So when's the wedding? Can I be the ring bearer? And by the way, Laura makes killer wedding cakes. Just saying."

Bucky scowled. "I'm not from the Victori—wait a minute, _Steve_ was betting on us?"

"Barnes, _everyone_ was betting. Wanda, Scott. Even T'Challa was in for twenty. Said something about hearing you mumble about your undying love for her while you were in cryo sleep."

Bucky glowered at Clint, but Natasha laughed. "Lighten up, James. It's funny."

"I don't talk during cryo sleep," he mumbled. He'd have to have a word with King T'Challa about that.

She squeezed his hand. " _Milli moi_ , Clint's just teasing."

"But not about the wedding," Clint said. "Seriously. Forget cute kids, I'll be way better as ring bearer. I'll put the rings on arrows, shoot them at you. It'll be great."

"I think we've been punctured enough," Nat said.

" _At_ you, not _in_ you, Nat. I'm insulted you'd think my aim is that bad."

There was a soft knock and Steve came in, Sam Wilson on his heels. "Hey," Steve said. "You're both up… and sitting very closely together." He slowly smiled. "Did you two, uh…"

Bucky glared. "If you're about to say fondue, I swear I'm gonna punch you through that wall."

"Give me a little credit, Buck." Steve grinned even wider. "But it does look as if I won. Merry Christmas to me!"

"Yeah, yeah," Clint grumbled. "You win. Don't gloat."

"I never win anything, so yes, I am going to gloat and you can just su—"

"Tsk tsk, language," Clint said.

Sam rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Stark. Please let me be the one to tell him."

"No way! I get to!" Clint protested. "I lost the most money—"

"—should naturally fall to me as the leader of the Avengers—"

"Oh, is that how it is?" Sam asked.

"Oh, that's how it is."

Clint broke in. "Look, Cap, last thing we need is you and Stark going at each other again—"

Bucky glanced ruefully at Nat, then said to the room at large, "We're both fine, by the way. In case anyone was wondering." He was ignored. "All right then." He got up and pulled the privacy curtain around her bed. In the stunned silence that followed, he carefully sat back down at Nat's side. He wanted to do the whole slide-in-bed-and-cuddle thing like in the movies—hell, that smile she was giving him made him want to do a _lot_ more than just cuddle—but damn the romance-killing limits of injuries. So he simply smiled as he leaned in to give her another kiss. "Now where were we?"

- _fin_ -

a/n: Ready Heat blankets are a disposable, self-heating blanket developed for use by the military and now also used by paramedics, hospitals, etc. They work like disposable hand warmers, heating up when exposed to air. All such things are magic and probably created by Gandalf.


End file.
